Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: fast food

Day 26.1: Marvel of the Modern World

I was off today, but I just have to post anyway (I’m in danger of developing good work habits!) to tell you that I had not yet witnessed the McDonald’s remodeling in its entirety. Now it’s even more 1959 by way of 1974 (with music from 1987–R.E.M.’s “Finest Worksong”–excellent!). The brightly-patterned wall coverings! The woodgrain vertical-slatted dividers! The fine large window with an expanded view of the drive-through, with CVS looming grandly in the distance! It is a wonder to behold.

While I awaited my order (Lenten Friday fish) (no tartar sauce, because tartar sauce is just mayo with boogers in it), the manager, a woman recently-promoted, was telling a subordinate, “Now don’t sing to yourself while you’re out there.” Seriously? Yes, she was dead serious. MIcro-manage much? Yeah, customers in the drive-through are always complaining, “That employee picking litter off the lot was singing again.” It made me want to burst into song right then and there. Hey, maybe that could become a lucrative second career! The world needs a female Lou Reed.

 

Day 30: The Final Countdown

(You should say that like they do in the song by the same name.)

Somebody asked, “Are you counting the days till retirement?” I realized I was not, and a person such as myself certainly should be doing so. But I’m not counting down how many days are left in my employment, since I have vacations in the next 2 months, but how many days of actual work are involved. Hopefully, having to report back each day will ensure semi-regular posting (and drinking during vacations will probably ensure the rest).

 

CRISIS IN PROGRESS, DAY 30 EDITION

“Caller at business hired a homeless subject to hold a sign, and he is now threatening them.” You know, you would think holding a sign would require the least vetting of any job.

“Suspect said he’s been tased before and knows to wear extra layers of clothing, also he could pull the darts out and run fast.” Let’s test that theory, shall we? One more reason to plan my outfits in advance!

“Subject states he is military police and has more power than the police.” Let’s test that theory, too!

“I got whiskey poured in my eye and I can’t see.” Well, I got Boone’s Farm wine poured down the front of my shirt once. The guy then tried to clean it up with his tongue. I should have told my caller that.

Officer’s comment on traffic stop: “You can’t be driving on a suspended license in a car covered in blood.” It turned out to be fake blood, but that only makes it more puzzling.

FAST-FOOD TIME-WARP AMBIENCE REPORT

McDonalds at St Joe/Maryland has been remodeled. I was wondering if they’d go for the slick gray cyberpunk look of the one at Lloyd/Rosenberger, but no. It looks like what we thought looked modern in 1959, but in a 70’s color scheme. If I get dementia, they could just set me down there and I’d feel right at home, although I wouldn’t be sure exactly which past decade I was in.

McDonald’s is the place everyone ends up at eventually, so it’s like Life’s Rich Pageant in there–mostly Norman Rockwell, but with a few fringe elements. (I suppose I’d qualify as a Fringe Element, but only on close inspection, and I don’t invite close inspection.) When I last went there, there was a crowd at the counter, and an old guy apparently having some kind of medical episode, so I didn’t anticipate getting my order taken any time soon, and went to Taco Bell across the street instead. (I usually prefer Taco John’s for my infrequent Mexican food urges, but they’re farther down the street, and it was starting to rain.)

The clientele at Taco Bell tends to be younger and more redneck, and the music being played was appropriate. Weirdly, though, it was appropriate for when I was younger. Not that I would have heard it at a fast-food place–businesses didn’t pander to youthful tastes in those days–but I would have heard it blaring from passing cars as I walked down the street in my halter top and bell-bottom jeans. The Stones’ “It’s Only Rock & Roll.” “Dreams I’ll Never See” by Molly Hatchett. (I had to Google that, not having thought of that song for all the intervening years.) Then I thought–I know those opening chords very well–Blue Oyster Cult’s “In Thee,” which I’ve never heard when I’m out. Maybe I should go to Taco Bell more often.

 

A TALK WITH NICK’S OWNER ABOUT MY RETIREMENT

“Now you’ll have lots of time for that ridealong!”

must think fast…“He’d probably just refuse, out of spite.”

“No, I think he’d probably accept–out of spite!”

Good thing he’s only imaginary.

 

THE EQUIPMENT IS OUT TO GET ME

This new radio system sounds like it’s recording what I say, even when I’m not on the phone or air. But that couldn’t be true, could it?

 

 

 

 

Free Fries and Free Time

“My emergency is that my girlfriend passed out drunk and I need someone to talk to, so that’s gonna be you.” In vain to explain to a drunk that 911 does not provide conversational services to the last one left conscious. He then called back and said, “She woke up and put her hands on me!” Officers arrived and determined no hands were placed on anyone.

THEATER OF CRUELTY CONTINUES

Efforts are now underway to tame Nick via sleep deprivation, although this tactic is controversial, and considered inhumane by some. Results are inconclusive at this point, but he has already lost all sense of time, and possibly his sense of humor.

SUPPOSE THEY GAVE A CRISIS AND NOBODY CAME

Speaking of losing track of time….

I awoke from my post-church nap and thought, “Good, there’s no reason to get up right now.” Until I eventually thought, “Wait a minute, I was scheduled to work fire my last day this week, and I certainly didn’t last night, so that must mean….” This train of thought (once it finally arrived at the station) led to getting up and putting clothes back on. Not that the long T-shirt I wore to bed wasn’t perfectly presentable.

Speaking of the length of my garments, I still have a dog bite on my leg. I can’t wear anything short, lest people think I tried to outrun a police K9, a course of action I cannot recommend.

A COMMERCIAL JUST REMINDED ME…

McDonald’s Monopoly is underway again! (YES, I FIND THIS EXCITING,  SHUT UP.) I remember when it was first introduced back in the 70’s, at a time in my life when free fries were a meaningful part of my diet. (But to put that in perspective, my rented room was $25/week.) (Shared a bathroom and kitchen with 2 other people, one of whom was an alcoholic who once defecated on the floor in front of the toilet.)

I forgot to relate this story from last year’s Monopoly {“So why are you bothering now?” they inquire querulously}–I duly bought my fish sandwich, consumed it, threw the box away, THEN REMEMBERED–I didn’t remove my game piece! Sure, it was probably a dud, but SUPPOSE IT WAS THE ONE? Since financial independence and/or free fries were at stake, I ended up rummaging through the trash, (looking guiltily around, although what was I planning to do if I had been observed? “Oh, I dropped my wedding ring in here. No, you don’t have to help me look.”) and found the glorious FREE FRIES bit of paper. Anyway, I am currently in possession of a free smoothie ticket, which I shall redeem tomorrow, if it doesn’t fall out of my billfold in the interim. And no, I don’t have to work tomorrow, why do you ask?

What I Did On My Vacation

…other than getting bitten by a dog, of course. That’s more of an adventure than I usually want to have.

ADVENTURES AT MCDONALDS

This actually took place before the dog-bite episode, but the latter kind of drove it out of my mind.

I was sitting near the back door, eating and minding my own business (eating fish, in all likelihood, it still being Lent), when a scruffy-looking guy wearing Carhartt-type overalls and nothing else came charging in. He stomped over to a table where an elderly couple was eating and yelled, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHY WE HAVE *$@%! REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?!! YOU ALMOST HIT A HOMELESS PERSON!” {I suspect he meant himself.} Pointing at elderly man–“F@CK YOU!” Pointing at elderly woman–“AND F@CK YOU! GO KILL YOURSELVES!!!” He then charged back out the door. A moment later, apparently unsatisfied with his previous performance, he came back in again and addressed the room at large. “DO YOU SEE THOSE PEOPLE? THEY ALMOST HIT 2 HOMELESS PEOPLE IN THE PARKING LOT!! WHY DO YOU THINK WE HAVE REAR-VIEW MIRRORS?! F@CK THEM!! THEY SHOULD KILL THEMSELVES!!” Having delivered himself of this speech, he left again. (Suicide note: “Dear world, I’m killing myself because some guy at lunch told me I should.”)

Once he was safely gone, a young man came over to the old couple, asked them if they were OK, said that the guy should have respected his elders (you know you’re old when someone says that to you), and said, “My dad over there was getting his knife out!” (Situation ESCALATE in 3…2…1…) There followed intense discussion about whether management was going to call the police. I waited breathlessly for the police to arrive, but they never did, so I guess the answer was no. The manager did mention that wearing overalls and no shirt still qualifies as No Shirt, No Service. I hate to think of what that guy would have done if he’d been refused service on top of nearly being killed in the parking lot.

Day 17: They Are the Schneesmen

I got a catalog from The Wisconsin Cheeseman. I am the Cheeseman, they are the Cheesemen….But my favorite catalog name is “Schnee’s from Bozeman, Montana,” which sounds like a Monty Python skit.

Most of the Christmas lights I’ve seen so far have been the boring all-white kind. Come on, West Side–quit trying to look like Newburgh!

I’M EVEN WITTY IN MY DREAMS

I won’t get into the dream, except that it involved going to the movies with Stephen Colbert. But I was trying to figure out which jewelry to wear, so I dumped it out on the floor (not my usual method of deciding, by the way), and was sitting in the midst of it, sorting it out. Rom was watching me, and I said, “I look like a dragon on its hoard, don’t I?” He answered, “Quite a bit.” I told him about the dream just now, and he said, “I think you’d like to have a hoard.”

CRISIS IN PROGRESS–LIGHTS & SIRENS

Officer on radio: “Call the Walmart Neighborhood market and let them know we found two of their stolen mobility scooters, and we’ll be, um, riding them back there.” I hope someone got a picture of that.

S.G.’S 17TH POST, 4/17/13: Forgive Me, FanBase

–I apologize for not posting for a week and a half, and note that the wrapper for my Subway peanut butter cookie says, “May contain peanuts.”

Tomorrow’s post will observe St. Nicholas Day, so if you’re not Nick, feel free to ignore it.

Day 16: Unrelieved Complaining

S.G.’S 16TH POST, 3/31/13–Holy Week: Easter Vigil

–I complain about traffic.

–I complain about littering.

–Hardee’s current slogan about eating like you mean it was newly introduced.

COMPLAINING IN REAL TIME

Why must there be an inflatable Santa down the street from my house? Those things are ugly when inflated, and even uglier when flaccid.

Don’t Leave Syrupy Trays

…as the saying goes.

I will finish the latest adventure of Nick, because the subject of same has given up hope of it ever being finished, but is too proud to beg. Oddly, for once it hasn’t been delayed because I couldn’t think of an ending. I thought of it as soon as I got into bed after writing the first part. But, since nothing will get me back out of bed except the need to pee, it fell by the wayside.

BUT FIRST…!

Yesterday, I did the tiniest and most obscure good deed ever.

McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day (all hail them!). I don’t use much syrup on pancakes, but I do use some. When emptying my tray into the trash the other day, the syrup container tipped over and spilled all over the tray. I thought, That is going to be a difficult cleanup for whosever job it is. So, yesterday I made sure to first drop the little syrup thing into the trash, and then dump the rest of it in. Of course, no one will ever notice, “Hey! There’s one less syrupy tray than there was yesterday!” But it’s still The Right Thing To Do. DON’T LEAVE SYRUPY TRAYS.

…In a world of too many Christmas inflatables, do we need Halloween inflatables? (This question is rhetorical. You know the answer.)…

Lest you think I am a bastion of virtue, something I said at work tonight was deemed a “jewel of sarcasm” by a colleague. As the saying goes, being good at sarcasm is like being good at torture (quite a bit like it, when you think about it). Everyone notices it but no one admires it. YES, I SAID THAT IN A PREVIOUS POST, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

BLOWS AGAINST THE EMPIRE

I haven’t had to use that title since, I think, the mid-90’s. But these are difficult times. The City Council said the administration has to come up with even more spending cuts. I know! Make the dispatchers bring their own toilet paper! You know, one way or another, property taxes are paying for my paper towels, so I don’t quite see the point of all this.

 

Better Living Through Advertising

While zeroing in on a coupon for the toilet paper we use, I noted that the accompanying ad said something like “Now With Design That Gives the Best Clean!” Now, I was not aware that the designs on toilet paper served more than a decorative purpose. But now that I do know, I’ll be looking out for the best one! It currently has roses and hearts on it. I’m proud that my favorite flowers are featured even on my toilet paper, but I will not let the roses in my yard know about it, since they are thorny and temperamental.

OBSERVATIONS FROM READING MY MCDONALD’S PLACEMAT

…because you gotta read something.

“Our latest McCafe treat, with mocha and a hint of coffee!” Call me a dumbass (Nick backs away, shaking his head), but I thought mocha was coffee.

The fine print at the bottom of said placemat said, “Summer Disrupter 2015.” That seems an odd choice of words. “Disrupt your summer–buy some lemonade!”

CRISIS IN PROGRESS–WE ALL HAVE IBUPROFEN

We really do.

From Nikki the Tragically Hip–“Cuss me out if it’ll make you feel better, but you still can’t report something stolen that isn’t yours.”

I request that you not cuss me out if it’ll make you feel better. Being someone’s venting target quickly becomes tiresome. For instance, I did not make this county’s unreasonably liberal fireworks laws.

–“There’s someone sitting on my neighbor’s back porch with a bicycle and a black cape.” Can’t Batman get a day off?

The thought occurs–what is the function of superheroes’ capes, anyway? I don’t think Batman can fly, and I believe Superman could fly even if he didn’t have a cape.

When I first got to work, I kept thinking I felt something crawling around under my shirt. But you tell yourself you’re  imagining it, or that it’s just a loose hair, UNTIL A GREEN BEETLE MAKES ITS APPEARANCE. This caused me to let out a small “yip” on the phone. Luckily, it was a butt dial (words I never thought I’d say–“Luckily, it was a butt dial”), so I spared someone from calling 911 and hearing the 911 operator scream. “IT’S COMING FROM INSIDE MY SHIRT!” “I thought I had an emergency, but take all the time with that beetle you need.”

Back With a Vengeance

“The blog seems to be back with a vengeance,” observed Nick, and, as a frequent target of my vengeance, he should know.

BA-BA-BA, BA-BA-NANA

I went to see the Minions movie with D., who shares my longtime interest in these lovable animated Twinkies.

Not everyone can dress like a Minion, but I happen to have a yellow shirt and denim overalls, so there you go. I sent a picture of this getup to Nick. “Do I look like a Minion?” I asked. “Yeah. Kinda.” he responded, obviously not sure which answer would get him in trouble. I should have asked, “Do these overalls make me look fat?”

First we went to McDonald’s, which featured giant Minion cutouts which D. longed to take home and add to her decor. This was not my regular McDonalds, which I’m guessing hasn’t changed since the 70’s. This was the fancy establishment at Lloyd/Rosenberger, nearer the theater. It looks like something out of the Matrix, with weird corners and glossy surfaces and ever-changing screens. I was so rattled at being in an unfamiliar setting that I forgot to specify no tartar on my fish sandwich, which then required a mopping-up operation involving 3 napkins. I resolved that the next time I was in some strange McDonald’s, I’d order nuggets, which require no special instructions on my part.

We proceeded to the theater, and parked under a sign saying Occupancy Assembly Point, which puzzled us greatly. I mean, we were assembled occupants, but still.

The last time I saw a movie in a theater was for Oliver Stone’s Doors film. I checked Google and found out this was in, um, 1991. When a theater had only 4 screens. In contrast, the current theater looks like an airline terminal (although, at our time of day, curiously unoccupied). The main difference is that there is absolutely no place to sit in the lobby. They strongly discourage sitting. Don’t even think about sitting until you get in the theater, or screening room, or whatever the young people call it nowadays.

We then went down a long creepy hallway, and into the theater proper. We were so early that there was no one else there. It was like a private showing. So we had a nice conversation in the dark. We also learned why not to arrive early–the pre-movie-trailer barrage of unrelated ads, which can be summed up as, “Use Your Cellphone To Get A Bunch Of Cheap Crap!”

MINIONS MOVIE POINTS YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE THOUGHT OF

–D. pointed out that in the caveman period, the Minions’ goggles were made of wood, I suppose because it’s not as heavy as stone.

–The Mystery of Evil: Why are the Minions always looking for an evil master? They’re so friendly and cute! Yeah, that’s pretty much the definition of overthinking something.

AND SPEAKING OF THE MYSTERY OF EVIL–CRISIS IN PROGRESS!

–Screaming female: “THIS GUY WAS GONNA GIVE ME A RIDE, BUT WHEN I COULDN’T SELL THE PILLS HE GAVE ME TO SELL, HE SAID HE WOULDN’T GIVE ME A RIDE UNLESS I GAVE HIM SOME P*SSY!” Really?? I even said, “Do you realize you just admitted being involved in a narcotics transaction?” and her only response was to yell “YOU GONNA GIVE ME A RIDE NOW THAT I GOT THE COPS ON THE PHONE?!” and hang up.

CRISIS IN PROGRESS INTERSECTS WITH MILDLY AMUSING ADVENTURES!

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: When you text a wrong number and say “U got smot?” (I was tempted to reply, “Tell me what it is and I’ll tell you whether I have it”–instead, I just said “U got the wrong number”), and I am told that it means pot (although who could imagine anyone on the Urban Dictionary site making stuff up?)–have you considered the possibility that your text might go to someone WHO WORKS CLOSELY WITH THE POLICE DEPARTMENT? I plugged the number into Facebook–turns out she’s a nursing student at UK, with a seriously redneck boyfriend.

AND SPEAKING OF WOULD-BE EVIL MASTERS…

Someone tried searching for Spankey’s Pizza online. She misspelled it, and the web blocker primly informed her, Access Denied–Adult Content. No, there is no spanking at Dispatch. (“There should be,” Nick growls.)

ANOTHER PSA: If you call 911, and we tell you your situation is not a police matter, don’t ask to speak to someone “qualified.” Figuring out who and whether to send someone is kinda central to the job, so yes, we are qualified. (File under “911–Why We Ask All These Questions.”)

Prodded With a Sharp Stick

The computer says “Suggested Sites: Add New Post–Scratchy Glitter,” so I feel obliged.

Responses are coming in for the Party of a Lifetime~

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”–L.K.

“I feel honored to be invited.”–T.R.

“I wouldn’t dare miss it.”–N.C.

What to wear, what to wear? It must make me look super-cool, yet be comfortable when I’m nervous, yet not be destroyed if I spill my drink on it. Similar to the Fall Festival wardrobe requirements, come to think of it.

–You know that hearing-test kind of noise you get in your ear sometimes? I read that it means that a cell in your ear is dying. At the rate I’ve been having those lately, I will have to retire early due to deafness.

“My name is–WHAT?–my name is–WHO? Slim Shady!”

CRISIS IN PROGRESS–HEARD AND OVERHEARD

–“Next time your landlord walks into your apartment naked, you should call the police.”

…and…

Her: “My ex-husband has my wedding ring, and the police need to go and take it from him and put it in safekeeping.”

Me: “Ma’am, they can’t do that.”

Her: “But they have to, because it’s got a really bad curse on it.”

The curse turned out to be that anyone who puts it on becomes a serial killer.

Speaking of curses, may one be upon a Certain Person for thinking she could buy Nick’s love (or whatever it is that he feels) with tacos. It can only be bought with chocolate.

A CALL I’VE HAD COUNTLESS TIMES

“I want the police to make someone leave my apartment.”

“Do they live there?”

“They’ve been…staying here.”

“Then it’s considered their residence, and the police can’t make them leave. They’ll have to be evicted.”

“But they’re not on the lease.” Check!

“Does your landlord know you’ve been letting someone stay there who’s not on the lease?” And Mate! Especially when they realize the landlord is the one who’ll have to file eviction proceedings.

The “They’ve been staying here” argument is similar to the invariable answer to “How do you know the people at this address are doing drugs?” The answer is always, “I just know.”

 

MYSTERIES OF MARKETING

McDonald’s has trademarked “Mickey D’s.” What’s next, trademarking “Tar-jay”? And speaking of which, how exactly does “Mickey D’s Sweet Tea” differ from just tea that you put sugar in?

AN ARTICLE YOU DON’T WANT TO READ

“Insights Into the Saliva of the Brown Marmolated Stink Bug.” And why was I googling that? You don’t want to know that, either.

 

 

 

 

%d bloggers like this: